


Smokes for Smiles

by upset_and_confused



Category: Constantine (TV), Twin Peaks
Genre: Angry Men Smoking, Friendship, Salt Pals, The crossover no one wanted or asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upset_and_confused/pseuds/upset_and_confused
Summary: Twin Peaks. More haunted than Maine and significantly less interesting. John was expecting to be bored off his ass but he wasn't expecting to get his ear snapped off by a pissed looking fed he second he set foot in the dingy little town.





	Smokes for Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that hit me and simply wouldn't let up. Albert needed a salt buddy and who better than a smoking master of the dark arts who is just as annoyed with this town as he is? Look for me interracialspacegays.tumblr.com for nonsense and frivolity!

John breathed in the smell of pine needles and crisp mountain air, the kind of smells that made a city man’s stomach churn. He reached into his trench coat for a smoke and felt the skin under his collar heat as he realized Chas must have nicked them before kicking him out. Just like the bloody bugger, hell forbid that John have a halfway decent breath while he’s in a backwater town surrounded by banjos and whittled bears. He looked up and around, he was near the police station, this little town may look as sweet as the cherry pie they advertised but it was positively crawling with demons and all signs pointed him to the station first. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he trudged over to the building, questions first, and maybe someone can point him to a general store.

“… Backwoods hillbilly hole.” Were the first words he heard from the man, in what could almost be a matching trench coat, who was storming out of the police station. He stalked past John and made for what must be his car, but not before John caught the intoxicating scent of cigarette smoke rolling off him. maybe it would be quicker to bum one…

“Oi!” He hollered, following after the man, “You don’t have a death stick on you, do you, mate? I’m gasping.”  
The man whipped around, even through the dark glasses John could see his eyes flick up and down his body in a deeply disdainful way, maybe bumming had been a bad idea. His lip crawled up in a sneer and he leaned on the car door, “What the fuck is a limey prick like you doing in a hell hole like this?” he asked.

John felt himself bristle, “Alright, listen you sorry sack of shit, maybe I came here to beat the ass of the first colonial nob who used the term ‘limey’ to describe me. Not that it’s your business but there are demons crawling out the ass of this poor excuse for a town and the only way I plan on getting through another second of staring at the slack jawed locals is if I have the pleasant fog of tobacco clogging my nose so the scent of the pine can’t get in, but if you’re going to be a twat about it I’ll just walk in and grab the first caveman I see for directions so fuckin’ sod off, alright?” John stuck his tongue through two fingers at the man so aggressively that he slobbered half way down his hand, turned on his heel and made to head into the station before he heard a burst of laughter.

John stopped and turned, the man was doubled over laughing so hard his sunglasses were in danger of slipping off his head. He managed to straighten up, already fumbling a pack of smokes open and offering them to John.

“Christ!” The man laughed out as John hesitantly took a smoke, “Christ I needed that, thank you, here, have the pack, pack of smokes for the first time I’ve laughed since I got here.” He took off his glasses and was beaming in a way that told John he didn’t beam very often. “Special Agent Albert Rosenfield.” He held out his hand and John took it, shaking in a way that probably said ‘I have no idea what just happened’.

“John Constantine.” He muttered around the cigarette that he lit with a tap of his finger, “Know a Cooper, I was told through back channels I should speak to him, well him and a Laura Palmer, but she, well.” He put a finger gun to his head and mimed pulling the trigger.

“Coop? He’s actually right inside, careful of the sheriff, by the way. He’s good looking but has a mean right hook.” It was then that John took note of the slowly healing black eye.

“Thanks for that, I’ll look out.” He puffed a smoke ring and before he could stop himself he was pulling out a card with his business number and handing it to the Agent, “I assume I’ll be seeing you again, Al.” He said, Rosenfield looked annoyed by the nickname but that was half the reason he had used it.

“Likely so, enjoy the armpit of civilization, Jackie.” He gave him a smirk, one that looked much more natural on his face and got into the car, slamming the door shut. John took a deep nicotine laced breath and headed for the door. “Welcome to Twin Peaks…” He muttered to himself.


End file.
